


Rising Remembering

by Casual_Scribbles



Series: The Angels Forgot (Until They Didn't) [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), beelzebub was Ramiel before they fell, redemption arcs are my jam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 20:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20364943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casual_Scribbles/pseuds/Casual_Scribbles
Summary: A voice suddenly fills the empty air. “Look at your Fallen family,” She says, and Crowley is struck with that feeling he had last night. His soul is filled so strongly with Love that he cannot stop the tears that spill past his eyelashes. “You have fought against them because you thought it was just. You thought it was just because you have forgotten. You forgot because there was no other way to teach you that they were not wrong, they were curious and now they are hurting. So now I tell you, look at your Fallen family and remember.”





	Rising Remembering

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second part of the The Angels Forgot (Until They Didn't) series and will make more sense if you read the first part before reading this!

Crowley wakes with a start. That wasn’t a dream. He is sure of it. It may have been over 6,000 years but he will _never_ forget the feeling of the Almighty's presence. He digs his fingernails into his arms to ground himself.

He looks around the bedroom and realizes that Aziraphale is no longer there. He feels panic edging its way under his skin. God’s words were far too cryptic, and now Aziraphale is gone. He scrambles out of bed.

To his relief, Aziraphale is in the kitchen. A kettle is boiling and Crowley frowns at it. Aziraphale had miracled tea last night. Why was he manually making it now? “Angel, what are you doing?”

Aziraphale pauses from where he had been measuring tea leaves. “Oh, Crowley, you’re awake! How are you feeling?” He sets the spoon down and takes Crowley’s hands. “You were quite shaken last night.”

“I'm feeling better… Angel, why are you making tea?”

Aziraphale smiles at him. It takes all of Crowley’s willpower to not melt on the spot. “I actually prefer making tea by hand. I think it tastes better like that.”

“Whatever you say, angel,” he throws himself onto the couch to wait for Aziraphale. The angel moves nearly soundlessly around the kitchen, but Crowley’s had years of practice listening to his angel. He can still hear the fabric of Aziraphale’s vest swish as he moves, the quiet scuff of his shoes on the floor, the clink of the teacups on the counter. He hears the water pour into the cups and a minute later Aziraphale is handing him tea.

“Don’t forget, dear, we promised Anathema and Newt that we'd stop by for lunch,” Aziraphale says, settling himself down at Crowley’s feet.

He suddenly feels bad about taking up the entire couch, so he pulls his knees up to his chest. Aziraphale moves over to be closer to Crowley.

“Right, yeah,”

“If you’re still feeling shaken, we can reschedule. I'm sure they’ll understand,”

“No, angel, it was just a nightmare,” He debates telling Aziraphale about God’s message. Then he remembers all of the times Aziraphale has tried to contact God and gotten no answer. He decides it would just hurt him. Especially considering the fact that he is a demon and Aziraphale is an angel. “I'm fine, really,”

“If you’re sure, then,”

“Yeah,” Crowley watches Aziraphale take a cautious sip and a thought occurs to him. “Why were you making tea, angel? Seems a bit early for it if you ask me,”

Aziraphale pauses, seeming to look embarrassed. “It’s just… I developed a bit of a headache this morning. It’s nothing to be worried about. I can barely tell that it’s there, really. I just thought tea might help me since it helps the humans.”

Crowley sits up, his brow furrowed. “Headache? Angel, you’re an ethereal being. You don’t _get_ headaches. Not unless you over-exert your miracles.” He frowns. “_Did _you overexert your miracles?”

“No, dear,” Aziraphale sighs and sips his tea. “Don’t worry about me. I'm sure it’ll be gone by lunch,”

Despite Aziraphale’s reassurance, Crowley _did_ worry. After his little chat with God last night, Aziraphale’s sudden headache could mean anything. He refused to let Aziraphale get up from the couch. He brought Aziraphale tea and blankets. He retrieved books for his angel to read.

“Crowley, dear, really, I'm _fine_,” Aziraphale repeats for what has to be the hundredth time. He moves to stand up, but Crowley plants his hands firmly on Aziraphale’s shoulders to push him back down.

“Ethereal beings don’t _get_ headaches,”

Aziraphale glares at him. “Crowley, dear, I said I'm fine. And, oh! Look at that-" Aziraphale pretends to look at a watch on his wrist. There is no watch there, Crowley knows. His angel is just being dramatic. He must have rubbed off on Aziraphale. “It’s time to leave for lunch!”

“Angel, not if-"

“The headache is gone, Crowley. You can stand down now. Let’s go,” Aziraphale surges off the couch and is at the door before Crowley has a chance to react. He can feel the anger radiating off Aziraphale. He trails behind him like a kicked puppy. He was only trying to help.

The car ride is silent. Even the Bentley seems to have picked up on the tension; it doesn’t play any music. Not even Queen.

They’re pulling up in front of Jasmine Cottage before long and neither of them has said a word. Crowley parks the Bentley, but he doesn’t turn it off. He has to get Aziraphale to talk to him. He turns toward Aziraphale and finds the angel already turning toward him.

“Crowley, dear, we should resolve this before we go in for lunch or it might be a tad awkward. Can you tell me what has you so worked up? Is there something I did?”

Crowley takes Aziraphale’s hand and squeezes it – the familiar action pinching something in his chest – before letting go. “No, angel, you didn’t do anything. Just- the nightmare- and then I had a weird dream after that- I guess it’s all got me a bit unsettled. I didn’t mean to make you angry. I was just worried.”

Aziraphale smiles softly. “You were worried over nothing, Crowley, but I appreciate it. It’s very sweet,” He climbs out of the car.

Crowley opens and closes his mouth, unintelligible noises crawling out of his throat. He watches Aziraphale approach the cottage with just a bit more skip in his step than before. “I am _not sweet_!” He hisses, but he’s not even upset about it. He’s not sure he ever really was.

He follows Aziraphale out of the Bentley and to the door of Jasmine Cottage. He knocks on the door. A few moments pass, then Newt pulls the door open. “Crowley! Aziraphale! You made it!”

“Of course we did,” Crowley says lazily. “What, did you think we’d stand you up?”

Newt flushes and seems to backtrack. “Well, no, I just- sorry, I didn’t mean- I was just-" he sighs and steps back. “Just, come in.”

Aziraphale smacks Crowley’s arm on the way in, but a hint of a smile ghosts across his face, so Crowley feels that it was worth the pain. He follows his angel into the cottage. Anathema sits at the table, several plates and a book in front of her. “You’re finally here. How is everyth-" she looks up and does a double-take. “Woah,”

Crowley’s gut tightens. Anathema is still looking between the two of them in shock. She narrows her eyes and leans closer.

“What? What is it?” Crowley asks.

“Your auras…” She stands up and steps around the table. “They’re _very_ different. Not even close to what they were the last time I saw you.”

“I thought auras are supposed to change, dear?” Aziraphale steps closer to Crowley. The subtle brush of their hands is like lightning up Crowley’s arm.

“They are… but not on this scale. It’s like you have completely new auras,” She circles them slowly.

“That's very odd, dear, but I'm sure it’s nothing,” Aziraphale smiles.

“Yeah,” Crowley says, a chill running up his spine. “Probably nothing,” He clenches his fists. He can feel his whole body trembling, but he’ll be damned – again – if he worries Aziraphale over whatever is going on.

Anathema seems unconvinced, but she lets it go. Still, Crowley catches her staring more than once during lunch. Newt helps set the table and serve the food. When everyone has finished eating, he voluntarily begins clearing the dishes. Crowley raises a questioning brow at Anathema.

“He feels bad about not being able to help with cooking. It turns out that technology's hatred of him extends to the stove and the oven as well.” She explains.

“And the microwave!” he shouts from the kitchen. “Can’t forget the microwave!”

Anathema laughs. “I'm going to go help him before he forgets that the dishwasher hates him, too.” She picks up the last of the dishes and follows Newt into the kitchen.

Aziraphale sighs and Crowley turns to him, concerned. He had gradually grown quieter throughout the meal and it had not slipped Crowley’s notice. Aziraphale has his head down, his hands blocking his eyes. Crowley is pretty sure Aziraphale’s thumbs are pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What’s wrong, angel?”

“It’s… nothing, dear.” He says quietly, not moving his hands. Crowley notices that his shoulders are tense. “I'm fine.”

Crowley puts his hand on Aziraphale’s back, between his shoulder blades. “No, angel, you’re not,” He presses gently and rubs circles, trying to coax his muscles to relax. “Please tell me what’s wrong,”

Aziraphale curls tighter, pressing the heels of his hands more noticeably against his eyes. He releases a shaky breath. “The headache is back. It’s worse, this time,” He admits finally.

Crowley stands up. “I’m taking you home, angel,”

“No, Crowley, no,” Aziraphale protests weakly, “We can’t just leave. That would be rude,”

“I’m sure Anathema will understand,” He pulls Aziraphale to his feet. Aziraphale leans against him and pulls his hands away from his eyes with a wince.

Anathema and Newt reappear in the doorway of the kitchen. “Understand what?” She asks.

“I’m taking Aziraphale home. He’s got a very bad headache,”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Go get some rest, Aziraphale,”

“Feel better,” Newt offers.

Aziraphale looks relieved. A smile plays at his lips. “Thank you,”

Crowley leads Aziraphale out to the Bentley and helps him climb into the passenger seat. Aziraphale immediately has his hands over his eyes again.

“Does the light hurt?”

“Yes, it does make it a bit worse,”

Crowley takes his sunglasses off and slides them onto Aziraphale’s face. He pulls his hands away to adjust the glasses on his nose and Crowley sees some of the tension leave his face.

He drives back to the bookshop as quickly as possible. Everything seems to be too loud, Aziraphale flinching away from every barking dog or laughing kid or rumbling engine. Fear has an icy grip on Crowley’s heart. Angels and demons don’t get headaches. It’s not a thing that happens. It’s never been a thing. Not even Before…

He shakes himself out of that train of thought. If he thinks about Before he’ll think about the Fall, and if he thinks about the Fall, he’ll have a breakdown. He cannot break right now. Not until he figures out exactly what the hell is going on.

By the time they reach the bookshop, Crowley has to practically carry Aziraphale inside and up the stairs. He lays him out on the plush couch and covers him in blankets. Aziraphale turns his face against the back of the couch and squeezes his eyes shut. Crowley shut the blinds in every room and then miracles the walls to be sound-proof. The sudden silence in the bookshop is suffocating, but Crowley is willing to deal with it for Aziraphale.

“Is it getting worse?”

He is answered by a high whine rather than words, which he takes to mean ‘yes’. He takes a deep breath. He has to figure out what’s happening. He has to do it for Aziraphale.

He snaps his fingers and every book Aziraphale owns on angel lore is spread out on the table. He sits down and begins to look through them for answers. Of course, the books were written by humans. It’s a minefield of insanity and incorrect statements and at the end of it all, Crowley is left with nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Except for a dull headache.

Crowley’s stomach drops. Whatever is happening to Aziraphale must be happening to him as well, now. He hauls himself to his feet and it feels like someone has driven a stake through his head. He groans and stumbles over to Aziraphale, who has begun to writhe under the blankets. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.

The pain is sharp and insistent. He feels like he’s being pulled by something and it’s straining against the inside of his skull. His vision whites out and he falls to his knees and he can hear screaming but he can’t tell if it’s coming from Aziraphale, himself, or both.

He is in the Garden. He hasn’t seen it since Adam and Eve left. It’s overgrown and chaotic, but it feels like home. He hears water and looks over to see the stream near which he first met Aziraphale. Not that Aziraphale remembers that. No, he’ll remember the wall and the desert and thunderclouds.

He realizes that his wings are in the physical plane. All six of them. He hasn’t unfurled two of the pairs since the Fall. They ache now as he examines them, sees the broken feathers he never groomed and the scars that never truly healed.

He looks around. Stretching out in a line to his left are demons, their black wings stark against the lush greenery. His old coworkers look just as confused and disoriented, if not more. On the other side of the stream, in a mirror image to his side, angels stretch along the banks. Directly across from him, he sees Aziraphale and he nearly cries out in relief. Aziraphale blinks at him, gaping at the wings. Crowley never told him who he used to be. He’s sure Aziraphale is trying to figure out how he never noticed that his best friend is an ex-archangel.

A voice suddenly fills the empty air. “**Look at your Fallen family,**” She says, and Crowley is struck with that feeling he had last night. His soul is filled so strongly with _Love_ that he cannot stop the tears that spill past his eyelashes. “**You have fought against them because you thought it was just. You thought it was just because you have forgotten. You forgot because there was no other way to teach you that they were not _wrong_, they were curious and now they are hurting. So now I tell you, look at your Fallen family and _remember_.**”

All of the angels double over, clutching their heads and screaming. Crowley remembers Gods words to him last night. ‘_If they never forgot, they could never remember,_”

He wants to leap over the stream and cradle Aziraphale in his arms, to take away whatever pain is being inflicted on him, but he is rooted in place. He cannot move. Aziraphale’s screams grate on his already-frayed nerves and he nearly breaks down. He can hear several other demons calling out angels’ names. He’s sure they are calling out to friends they know don’t remember them. He can even hear Beelzebub shouting at Gabriel.

Then the angels’ wings begin to burn. Rage rises in Crowley’s chest. No, no, no, no, _no, no_! He was so careful, he was so _sure_ that he’d kept Aziraphale away from anything that might make him Fall. Of all of the angels present, he knows for a _fact_ that Aziraphale is the last one who deserves to Fall. He aches to close the distance between them and put out the flames on Aziraphale’s back, but he can’t break free.

Slowly, the screaming quiets. The fire dies. The angels are left trembling, their wings singed golden brown. Several are kneeling, others are curled on the ground. The demons are set free. Crowley has never run faster in his entire life. He is at Aziraphale’s side, running his fingers through his hair and rubbing circles on his back. He sees other demons comforting their respective former friends, but many of them stayed on the opposite bank, watching warily.

“Hey, angel. It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re with me,” He murmurs gently. He has no idea what just happened. He has no idea how to help.

Aziraphale takes a shuddering breath and looks up, his watery blue eyes meeting Crowley’s. “Raphael?”

He freezes. No, it’s not possible. Tears rise to his own eyes. It’s been so long since he’s heard that name spoken in Aziraphale’s voice. It’s not possible.

“Raphael, why didn’t you tell me?”

Crowley breaks, a sob tearing out of his chest. He wants to believe it. He wants to believe that he has Aziraphale – _his_ Aziraphale – back. He wants it _so damn bad_.

“You begged me not to forget you. How could I do that to you? Raphael, I’m so sorry,”

Aziraphale wraps his arms around him and Crowley collapses into him. “You were gone, angel. I saw you on the wall and I thought ‘_this is it, I can finally see him again_’ but then you looked at me and it was like you didn’t even _know_ me. And I couldn’t- I couldn’t understand,” He sobs. 6,000 years worth of pent-up emotions rises in his throat. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared to tell you. I didn’t want to- I _couldn’t_ lose you. Not again,”

Aziraphale’s arms wrap around him tighter. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“**Do you see, now, where you went wrong?**” God asks them all. “**You believed that you were meant to follow without question and that those who questioned disobeyed. Look at the Questioners. Even after years of cruelty, they did not hesitate to comfort you in your hour of need.**”

Crowley pulls back and wipes the tears from Aziraphale’s face with his thumb. Aziraphale smiles and leans into the touch.

“**I offer you the choice to return. You will all stand on equal footing. No one will be greater and no one will be lesser. You are free to choose,**”

“I want to go home,” Aziraphale murmurs into Crowley’s palm. He rests his forehead against Aziraphale’s.

“We will, soon,”

“**If you wish to return, wash your wings in the water,**” She says.

Crowley looks at Aziraphale. “Help me,” he pleads, tugging Aziraphale toward the water. Aziraphale follows, splashing in the current running around their feet. He sees some demons diving headfirst into the water and others waiting for an angel to offer them help. He notices Gabriel being pulled down to the water by Beelzebub, tears shining on their cheeks. They are smiling for the first time since the fall.

Crowley kneels in the stream and tries to ignore how much the water burns. Aziraphale pulls a handful of water over his feathers and Crowley flinches away, hissing. Aziraphale recoils, but Crowley grabs his wrist. “Don’t stop,”

Every scoop of water burns a little less. The stream around him swirls darkly as if Aziraphale is washing away ash instead of evil. He supposes, in a sense, that that is what is happening.

His wings gleam golden-brown in the sunlight. All six pairs of them having been washed ever so carefully by Aziraphale. He feels lighter, somehow. He spreads his wings, his feathers brushing against Aziraphale’s. Their wings almost match now, both golden-brown. Their feathers are their own unique shade and he notices that the same is true for everyone else in the stream.

There is only one demon left on the bank. Lucifer. He stares at everyone, more emotions flashing across his face than Crowley has ever seen. He almost looks scared.

There is motion in the crowd. Gabriel and Beelzebub – no, Gabriel and _Ramiel_ – step aside and Michael stands facing Lucifer. Slowly she extends her hand. Lucifer hesitates. He looks around, seeming to search for a reason he wouldn’t be accepted. Finding none, he takes Michael’s hand and lets her wash his wings.

Crowley pulls Aziraphale in and presses a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “I’m never letting you go again,” he whispers.

“Nor I, you,”

“**Welcome home,**”


End file.
